Knights of the Black and White

by Jack Whyte

  His voice failed him and he stood up and crossed his arms, his chin sinking onto his breast, and when he spoke again he held one hand over his eyes, pinching them shut. “I knew the number had to be huge, because there were times when I was wading in blood and guts to my ankles … places where the drainage was poor and the walls were high … where there were houses full of wealthy people and family retainers, slaughtered in their homes. And I believe the screams I heard that day—and still can hear today—will never again permit me to hear silence.”

  St. Omer raised his hands and then let them drop helplessly into his lap. “Hugh—”

  “Please tell me you were not about to say that it was not as bad as I remember, Goff, because it was, and worse. I saw men whom I have known my entire life, Christian knights, transformed into beasts, slaughtering women and children wantonly, some of them dragging cloths stuffed with booty they could not have carried. I killed one man myself, a knight from Chartres, whom I found ravishing a girl who could not have been older than seven. He glared at me, demented, and screamed that he was doing God’s work, driving the devil out of her. I took his head off with one stroke and left him sprawled over her, because she was already dead. He had killed her before violating her. Because God willed it, Goff … Because God willed it, through his priests and followers. Don’t ever talk to me of God again.”

  “I will not. You may rely on that.”

  Something in St. Omer’s tone penetrated the other man’s awareness and he cocked his head suddenly, curious again. “Why were you angry at me that day? I don’t believe you told me.”

  “Yes, I did. You disappeared. That’s what we’ve been talking about. And now you will doubtless be surprised to hear that I am even angrier than I was then.”

  He twisted in his seat to stare stonily at Hugh. “How can you say you were the only one who felt the way you did that day? How can you even think such a thing? How can you … can you have that much … what’s the word old Anselm used to use for pride, the dangerous kind? Hubris, that’s it. How can you have that much hubris, Hugh? That is insulting. Insulting to the point of inviting a slap in the face. It’s insulting to me, and to Crusty, and to your father the Baron, and the Count himself, and to every other member of our Order who was in the city that day. None of us could avoid being there, if you’ll but throw your mind back. We had marched halfway across the world to be there that day, seeing it as a bounden duty, and so we all went in there willingly.

  “But not all of us enjoyed what happened there, and what we saw being done sickened more good men than you near to death. You were not the only man to be repelled by what went on that day in that place. I can name you a hundred men I know in person, all of whom are sick at heart over what happened here, but what can they do to change any of it? The treasures that were captured are all gone, into the coffers of the bishops and the nobility. The people who owned those treasures are all dead. The city is uninhabitable, a stinking charnel house, and I would wager no one will live there for the next ten years or more. Titus destroyed Jerusalem twelve hundred years ago, and now the Church of Jesus Christ, a Jew who lived here at that time, has destroyed it again, and somehow you have convinced yourself that you alone can see that? That truly is hubris, my friend, and it is too much so for me. I’ll bid you a good night.”

  St. Omer stood up abruptly and turned to walk away.

  “Wait, Goff, wait, wait. Turn around, if you will, and look at me.” Godfrey did so, and Hugh immediately looked away, gazing into the fire for a spell, aware of Godfrey’s eyes on him, and then looked up at his friend, and shook his head as if clearing it. “Forgive me, in the spirit of our ancient Order. You are correct in every word. I have been steeped in hubris—pickled in it—and unable to see beyond the end of my own stubborn, self-pitying nose. Please, my friend, sit down.”

  Half an hour later, having talked in depth about their innermost feelings and the experiences of others of like mind, Hugh said, “Thank you for this, Goff. You have made me feel much better, knowing that so many others share my anger and my grief. But there are still those others who do not …”

  “And what do you intend to do about them, Hugh?”

  “Nothing at all. Providing they leave me to my own affairs, I intend to ignore them.”

  “Ignore them?” St. Omer seemed on the verge of smiling. “All of them?”

  “Every one of them. Why does that make you smile?”

  “Simply because of the way you said it. But what if they refuse to leave you to your own affairs, what then?”

  Hugh de Payens’s face was utterly without humor or compassion when he said, flatly, “Then I will kill a few of them, as they killed in Jerusalem. That will convince them quickly to leave me alone, and I will do it without hesitation if I must. In my eyes, they have lost any vestige of humanity they might have had before coming here, and I wish nothing to do with them. My liege lord, while I am here in Palestine, is Count Raymond, and to him I will dedicate my life and duty as I did before. Beginning once again tomorrow, I will go where he sends me, do what he bids me do, and if it should transpire that I must share duties or fight alongside these others, then I shall do so. But I will have nothing to do with any of them otherwise.”

  “But—”

  “But what, Goff?” Now Hugh smiled, his old nature showing through for the first time. “Think about it, lad—about me, and about what you are saying. I have never willingly had anything to do with any of them ere now anyway. I spend my spare time only with my friends, and all my friends are within the Order.” He paused, then said, “What about you and Crusty, what will you do, now that you have seen how wondrously the Holy City was saved for all good Christian souls?”

  St. Omer shrugged. “The same as you. We will address ourselves to our sworn duty, in obedience to our lord the Count. Which reminds me, I am summoned to attend him at daybreak, so I had best be on my way. I have a feeling he intends to send me somewhere. Not Crusty, just me. But if he does not, then I’ll be back tomorrow night, with Crusty.”

  “So be it, and may Fortuna ride with you if he sends you out. Be careful and come back safely.”

  St. Omer nodded and turned to leave, then swung back yet again. “We will be going home soon, you know, now that the campaign is complete. The army is breaking up, did you know that?”

  “Breaking up?” Hugh sat blinking for the space of several heartbeats. “What does that mean, breaking up? That would be utter folly, Goff. The army can’t break up. The moment that happens, the Turks will sweep back in here like avenging devils, with no one to stop them, and we will have achieved nothing. Where did you hear that nonsense?”

  St. Omer stood frowning for a moment. “I don’t know where I first heard it, really, but now everyone’s talking about it—about going home, I mean. We need to go home, Hugh, particularly those of us who have wives and children. We have been gone for four years already, and even if we were to leave tonight, it would be nigh on six years by the time we win home.” He hesitated. “Besides, it’s not as if everyone is leaving. There is too much at stake for that. Kingdoms and duchies and counties are being created even as we speak, and they will have to be defended.”

  De Payens frowned. “Kingdoms? What are you talking about, Goff? Kingdoms, here in God’s homeland? Where are these kingdoms?”

  St. Omer threw his hands in the air. “They are nowhere, Hugh, not yet. It is all talk at this stage. But there is talk of establishing a Kingdom of Jerusalem, for the protection of the Holy Places. The barons and nobles wanted de Bouillon to be king, and named him such ten days ago, while you were absent, but he refused, saying no mere man should wear a crown of gold where Jesus wore a crown of thorns. He has accepted the lesser title, however, of Advocate of the Holy Sepulcher.”

  “Hmm. What does that mean?” Hugh knew and admired Geoffroi de Bouillon, the Duke of Lower Louraine, who had been the undisputed leader of the Christian armies on the march to Jerusalem, and he thought it typical of the man that he would
have the moral strength to refuse a kingdom because of his beliefs. De Bouillon was modest, and even self-effacing, and his undoubted honesty and integrity were the true reasons underlying his popularity and the high regard in which he was held. Now, as he thought about it, it became plain to Hugh that de Bouillon’s refusal would provide an opportunity for someone else, for the kingship, once dreamed up, would not go long unclaimed, but as soon as Hugh mentioned this, Godfrey shook his head.

  “Not an issue,” he said. “De Bouillon’s new title, Advocate of the Holy Sepulcher, usurps all the powers of kingship without using the name. It is a pretty piece of politicking, but it may serve all our needs.”

  “Aye, for as long as Geoffroi lives. Who else is involved?”

  St. Omer shrugged. “The usual crowd, I should think. Geoffroi’s brother Baldwin won’t be far away from the pickings. A cold fish, that one. Then there’s Bohemond of Taranto. They say he is already laying claim to Antioch, naming it his own fiefdom and calling himself the Prince of Antioch. And they say, too, that Baldwin, for his own protection, while keeping one eye on his brother’s claim to the crown of Jerusalem, is pressing himself forward to claim Edessa, as its Count. There are wheels turning within wheels among those three … And then there are the two Roberts, of Normandy and Flanders, and their cohort, Stephen of Blois, who wed the Conqueror’s daughter in a moment of weakness and has rued it ever since. Also, of course, there is our own Count’s liege, Count Raymond of Toulouse. They are all looking around like hawks, preening and peering to see what pickings are available to them.”

  Hugh was staring back into the fire again, nodding his head intently at whatever he could see in the glow of the coals. “I need to speak with Count Raymond,” he said, more to himself than to his friend. “I shall be there before you leave him at first light, hoping that he will speak with me. Go now and find your bed, my friend, and sleep well.”

  NINE

  “There is no one close enough to overhear us out here, Brother Hugh, so you may speak plainly. What is it that concerns you?”

  It was still early enough in the morning for the shadows to be long, although the sun was climbing rapidly now, its glare strengthening with every passing minute, but Hugh was heartened by Raymond’s intuitive understanding of his needs. He had been appalled to find the Count surrounded by a throng of courtiers that morning, many of them supplicants, many of them subordinates, and very few of them brethren of the Order. Godfrey must have been there ahead of his appointed time and received his instructions from the Count before Hugh arrived, because there was no sign of him. The guards had immediately permitted Hugh to enter the enormous tent below the banner of Toulouse, but he had stopped short just within the entry, looking about him, unwilling to penetrate the mass of milling bodies. He spotted the Count, in the middle of the large space and surrounded by half a score of men, but elsewhere in the crowd he saw several people whom he had last seen in Jerusalem, creating havoc, and he had no wish to deal with any of them.

  Fortunately, the Count had seen Hugh standing alone and had excused himself from his entourage and embraced him as a brother. He had been glad to hear from St. Omer that Hugh had returned, he said, and Hugh was surprised—but also grateful—that he did not go on to ask where he had been during the three weeks of his absence. Instead, Raymond leaned back and eyed him questioningly, then glanced around at the watching crowd before asking him, quietly, “Did you wish to speak to me of fraternal matters?” When Hugh nodded, he added, “Is it sufficiently important to interrupt this gathering?” Hugh nodded again, and the Count gripped his arm above the elbow, speaking now for the ears of others. “Come then, Sir Hugh, and walk with me in the morning air for a spell. I need to stretch my legs and I am curious to hear of your adventures in the desert.”

  Now, far removed from the tent and its occupants, Hugh stopped walking and looked directly at his liege. “I hear talk, my lord, of disbanding the army, now that Jerusalem has been retaken.”

  Count Raymond nodded. “I hear the same, but the reports are less than accurate. There is no possibility of the army being disbanded. That would be sheer madness.”

  “But some of our people will be returning home, is that not so?”

  “Aye, it is, and there is nothing I can do about that. Most of the men here took the Cross voluntarily, to win back the Holy Places, and now that has been done and their aim has been achieved, they believe, with good reason, that their duty has been done, and now they wish to return home. Surely you can understand that?”

  “Aye, my lord, I can. But what of us? What of our Order and its intent, here in Jerusalem?”

  “The same applies there. Our objective was to establish a presence here from the outset of things. We have done that, earning our right to be here by sharing in the conquest of the Holy City.”

  “Conquest is not a word I would have chosen there, my lord.”

  The Count started to frown, but then restrained himself and merely nodded his head, once. “No, and I know why. But you deal in hard, cold pragmatism, Sir Hugh, whereas I must deal in political reality. Thus you may award yourself the privilege of feeling anger and outrage, but I may not. Accept that, if you would please me, and do not question my motives.”

  “Pardon me, my lord, I would not question anything you do, and I never have. I merely wondered what will become of our mission here when everyone goes home.”

  “Not everyone will go home. Some of us—some of our brotherhood—will remain behind.”

  “I would like to be one of those who remain, if it pleases you, my lord.”

  The handsome Count almost smiled, but dipped his head instead in affirmation. “And you would, under normal circumstances, Sir Hugh. Indeed, you were the first person I thought of when I was considering my plan of action in this matter, prior to the taking of the city. I thought to promote you in the field and leave you in charge of the Order’s affairs here, but …” He shrugged, spreading his hands. “But then you were reported missing, believed dead. That was weeks ago. And then, ten days ago, a courier arrived, bearing word from the Council, and in those dispatches you were named specifically and directed to return home to your father’s barony, where the Council has work for you. Believing you dead, I wrote back to that effect … But fortunately the mail has not been sent, so I will reclaim the letter and destroy it, and you will take the first available vessel headed out of here for Cyprus and home.”

  “But—”

  Raymond’s voice held but the slightest trace of censure. “But what, Sir Hugh? But you would rather remain here in Jerusalem with all the people who endeared themselves to you the day you disappeared? Or do you presume to believe that you know better what the Order needs from you than the Governing Council does? Hear me now, for I have thought much on this already today and would have sent for you before the day was out had you not come of your own accord. Here is my opinion: we have achieved entry here in Jerusalem, but for the time being there is nothing we can do, because the city lies empty and stinking to the heavens of blood and offal, and were it not for the fact that the Holy Sepulcher is here, none of us would remain close by. As the smell begins to fade, however, men will begin to plot and political maneuvering will have its day. It has already begun. You know about de Bouillon’s refusal of the crown, I presume?”

  Seeing Hugh’s nod, he continued. “Whatever the outcome of that situation, other events will be occurring here within the next few years. There will be a Kingdom of Jerusalem, just as there is already a Principality of Antioch—Bohemond wasted no time on that development. There will also be a Kingdom, perhaps, of Edessa, and counties in other areas. All of that will transpire over the course of the coming four or five years, and in the meantime we are all of us surrounded by more Muslim enemies than anyone could possibly compute. We have won back God’s Homeland from the Infidel, but we will have our hands full, trying to keep it …

  “In the meantime, we would be able to do nothing on behalf of the Order here, even if we knew wha
t the requirements were. You do not know what is required of us, or of you, but I know a little more, at least, than you do. You are required to return home and to study further the Lore of our Order. Then, when you know enough, you will return here, either to perform an assigned task or to await further instructions. St. Omer and Montdidier will accompany you home, and you will carry dispatches from me to your liege of Champagne. Now, return with me, if you will, to where my supplicants await me, and then you may set about gathering your belongings for your voyage.”

  It took mere moments for them to return, and Hugh was aware of the curious faces peering at them. He paid none of them any attention, however, and when Count Raymond extended his hand, Hugh bowed over it.

  “Go in peace,” the Count murmured, “and go with our God, Hugh de Payens. You will see this land again, I promise you.”

  AWAKENINGS

  ONE

  “Atraveler went down from Jerusalem to Jericho and fell among thieves …”

  Hugh de Payens did not know who had spoken, and did not even turn his head to see, for what would be taken elsewhere as a biblical quotation was a banality here on the road to Jericho, which had not changed one iota for the better since the days of the Good Samaritan. The dead men in front of them took up all Hugh’s attention. They had been stripped of everything of value and everything that might identify them; their naked corpses, red faced and fish-belly-white everywhere else, confirmed only that they had been from the other end of the earth, from Christendom. They had been slaughtered, then despoiled and left where they had fallen among the desert boulders near the road, and it had happened very recently, for their white-skinned flesh was still largely intact. The vultures had barely begun to feast on them, and black swarms of flies heaved and seethed not only on their wounds but on the pools of blackening, clotted blood that stained the sandy ground. On a boulder above him, one of the carrion eaters stirred and flapped its great, black wings, but made no move to return to its interrupted meal. The newcomers were too close, and it knew from experience that they would attack it.